


Signed, Sealed, Delivered

by slightly_murderous_sorcerer (emerald_witch_esmeralda)



Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: Angst, I wanted Philippe to finally express himself, Letters, M/M, Sibling Rivalry, and I wanted to get inside Louis’ mind, i think there’s a bit more to him than the ol’ “he’s a dick”, just some shit i decided to write, monchevy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:48:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25621654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emerald_witch_esmeralda/pseuds/slightly_murderous_sorcerer
Summary: Philippe feels absolutely miserable with his beloved Chevalier locked away...and his brother doesn’t seem to inclined to release him. But the prince knows a way to get him back and hey, siblings borrow each other’s things all the time. He’d get it back before Louis ever knew.
Relationships: Chevalier de Lorraine/Philippe d'Orléans | Monsieur (Versailles 2015)
Kudos: 18





	Signed, Sealed, Delivered

“Where is it?” Philippe muttered, slipping quietly through the heavy oak door, both surprised and pleased to discover that nobody was here. He was surprised that Louis wasn’t here with Madame de Montespan, or Bontemps wasn’t here preparing one thing or another. The king’s bedroom was completely empty, and that meant good news for him. Immediately he made his way to Louis’ inlaid desk, tugging on a drawer to find that it was locked. His brother had always been notoriously paranoid, and hadn’t let up since his marriage to Marie-Therese. If anything, it seems like he’d retreated that much further into himself.  


  
He’d never approved of this match, it left a bitter taste in his mouth. But Louis insisted that royals did not marry for love, even kings: it made the prince question whether his brother even knew what true love was, had ever experienced it. Doubtful, for if he had he most likely wouldn’t have sent his lover away...a second time. Philippe missed his Chevalier dearly, not having him around was taking a toll and not because of foolish sentimentality. Lorraine was one of the only people Philippe could cling to, could truly trust in this pit of vipers that Louis seemed right at home in. Well, he supposed. If one stopped seeing people as people at some point, it must’ve been easy to live in such a way. Louis didn’t see Lorraine as a man, but as a means to control Philippe. Somewhere along the road, Louis had forgotten what love was. He’d cast aside the man in favor of the monarch, now he only knew control and domination. He’d learned to subsist on sex and power to keep him feeling alive as substitutes for love, somewhere deep down Philippe felt sorry for him.  
But enough about Louis. He _needed_ that royal seal, it was the only way to retrieve his husband. Imitating one’s older sibling for years (and recently to an Indian delegation), it was nothing to him to copy Louis’ handwriting. He could do it with nearly perfect accuracy, he’d already had the letters recalling the Chevalier from exile already prepared...now all he needed was that damn seal.  


  
Blast it! He would never get in without the key, and all that was on this damn desk were useless papers and quills...stuff he could get in the comfort of his own rooms. _The same quill and ink he used to sign the Chevalier’s arrest warrant._  
All the feelings that Philippe thought he’d gotten out of his system over the past few weeks started to rise to the surface again, and his hand shook as his eyes darted around the room. All neat, perfect and orderly...not a hair out of place, just like Louis himself.  
How _dare_ he. How dare he be so put-together while Philippe’s world was crumbling around his ears because of him?! It would be so tempting to just mess it all up, to mess it up like Louis had messed Philippe up, even a little. Certainly there were many expensive and breakable objects here, things that the king greatly treasured. Why _not_ spill paint on the comforter or smash his artworks into a million pieces? It would be an equivalent, Louis was far more attached to this stupid gilded birdcage than he was any human in his life...even his own brother. What had happened to him?! Louis had always been spoiled and pretentious, but it had never been like _this_! He actually used to be a decent person once, a decent _brother_ once in a past that seemed so distant. Where had it all buggered up and gone so horribly wrong? The fire blazing in Philippe’s chest had been joined by another flame...the fire of curiosity. What _had_ happened to them? Where did this whole thing start? How had they ended up here? As those questions mixed with his anger, Philippe felt his grief rising to the surface one again. The grief of the loss of his beloved and best friend, and the grief of losing his brother.  


  
And Louis was lost to him now...he’d been lost for a terribly long time, the prince had long resigned himself to the fact that there was no getting him back. But it wasn’t too late for his Lorraine, he could still get _him_ back. Under the weight of all those emotions, part of him just wanted to either scream into the void until his vocal cords were shredded or simply collapse. Collapse into a boneless pile and drift off somewhere to sleep. Before he knew it, his hands seemed to move on their own. Instead of picking up one of Louis’ carved busts and throwing it at the Venetian glass however, they picked up the quill and parchment. He’d become an automaton sitting in the king’s ornately carved chair (perhaps he’d rub his heels in it later), his soul becoming a spectator while his body dipped the quill in the ink and began to write.  


  


  
_Louis,  
I don’t even have to tell you off or yell at you or anything in this letter...it does no good, it’s a waste of both my time and breath and besides, you already know what you did. I’ve experienced a plethora of emotions over these past weeks, brother...many of which have been directed at you; at him, at God and at the world. And you’ve actually witnessed many of these displays, although it always ended with you telling me to leave your presence.  
_

_  
I’ve been angry, I’ve been sad, I’ve even pleaded with you to not much avail as we both know. But you know what? I’m done being angry, I’ve shed enough tears until all I felt was abject emptiness. However, there were times during my rage against the machine where I felt something a bit more. During those times when I screamed and raged at your portrait, when I thought about setting both it and this whole damn palace alight...when all that anger burned away from me do you know what was left? Sorrow. I’m still angry of course, you deserve that and I’m not sorry for it. But I am sorry for **you** brother. Not in the sense that I’ve done you any wrong, but I’m sorry for what’s caused you to become the way you are now.  
I’m sorry that you don’t have a true love in your life...and the thought makes me sad, as everyone should be able to experience that maddening, irrational joy at least once in their lives. Oh it’s painful, it definitely can be but that’s the price of it.  
_

_  
I’m sorry that your experience of love turned out to be an abject failure...you know of whom I speak if you haven’t forgotten her in the myriad of women you’ve taken to your bed since then. I certainly haven’t forgotten Marie Mancini (or her charming brother, but that’s a topic for another letter.)  
I’m sorry that the pain of that loss has twisted you and scarred your heart to the point where you’ve been rendered incapable of letting any love in at all. I’m sorry that the many mistresses that you change like old stockings bring you no comfort. As I said in the first paragraph, the price of love is pain and I’m sorry that you feel that’s a price you’re not willing to pay. We’re all humans, brother mine...yes, even you. No matter how many images of yourself in the stature of Greek gods you paint in order to escape that reality. A shame really, I would’ve thought that the harrowing experience of our shared childhood would’ve reminded you of your mortality. But you don’t want to be reminded of that, do you Louis? _

_  
Humans err, humans hurt but you would never admit that because it would be painful. I’m sorry that you allowed that pain to twist you into something so awful, I’m sorry that you were unable to heal from it. I’m sorry that you’ve seemed to forget that I lived that life with you, that I’ve felt what you’ve felt and that you think that it’s only happened to you. I’m sorry for the fact that you aren’t capable of feeling joy anymore, and that displays of joy and love pain you so much because they remind you of what you don’t have. Looking at it from this perspective, I see why you took the Chevalier from me. Because seeing happiness hurts unhappy people, and of course we want to destroy what’s hurting us. It’s only natural, I suppose. I suppose you’re still capable of love, I mean you definitely love Versailles. The way your eyes light up when talking about that wretched palace is the same way I look when I speak of my Chevalier (who’s a living, breathing person by the way, not a building). But then again, it’s easy to give your heart to something that you specifically built to be your ideal of perfection. They’re everything you ever wanted, without all the undesirable bits that people have like independent wills and emotions, hurting you or breaking your heart…”love” without any of the grunt work. How rewarding is that for you? You think...you’ve always thought that I wanted what was yours when anyone with functioning eyes can see that it’s totally the opposite.  
_

_  
Some people may look at you and envy but know this, I’m not one of those people. I look at you and I don’t envy you at all...in fact, I have the stones to consider myself the more fortunate of the two of us if I may be frank. Why would I wish to live under the weight of such misery? If that’s the price of the crown then you can gladly keep it...I’m a more simple man, I just want love and happiness and to live in peace. It may surprise you but that’s enough for me. I know that’s what you want too, because if it wasn’t then I wouldn’t be writing this letter right now. All the riches in the world can’t buy happiness, and you can keep your riches. What I possess is worth more than all of them, and he brings me joy. You used to have that once, and perhaps if you stopped trying to use other things to fill the void and went out to seek it for yourself, we’d all be much better off. This isn’t another plea to release my lover, I’ll get him out with or without you and if that makes me a traitor then so be it (you can simply refer to our history to see who has betrayed who). I just simply decided to tell you what everyone has been thinking...they fear you, they envy you or they pity you. It’s not love, whatever you delude yourself into believing. You say you have the life of your subjects but that’s not love. I know what love is. And maybe once upon a time, you knew what love was too.  
_

_  
I’m simply sorry for you that you’ve forgotten. Maybe pull your head out of your ass one day and you’ll start remembering.  
_

_  
Sincerely,  
Your pissed-off (and more fortunate) brother, Philippe.  
P.S., Your taste in women is absolute trash. Come on, do better._

  


  
With a groan resemblant of the sound made by a pressure-release valve, Philippe lifted his head only to be smacked soundly in the forehead by some flying object. “Who _dares_ …?!” The rest of his sentence died in his throat when he looked into his lap and lifted out a tiny golden key attached by a red ribbon. “Huh?” Looking up, he saw a familiar face scowling at him. “Minette? When did you get in here?”  
“I’ve only just arrived.” His wife brushed off her skirts, blue eyes boring into his. “I did not find you in your rooms so I assumed you came here.”  
“Where did you get it?”  
“Never you mind.”  
“But you hate him? Why?” He eyed her warily.  
“Because I tire of seeing you rage and skulk around the palace.” she sighed, rubbing her own temples. “He’s even worse when he’s not here...you become unbearable. Plus...maybe you’ll owe me a favor.” A slight smile appeared on her face, was this some attempt to lighten the mood or was she serious? You never knew with her.  
“Thank you, I suppose.”  


  
“I suggest you find that seal before I change my mind.” With that, she swept from the room like so much smoke, leaving Philippe alone with the key and his thoughts. He straightened up when he heard the chime of the wall clock...it must be four. Louis would come back soon...he’d better speed up his search. Leaving the letter on the very top of the king’s stack of papers, Philippe hugged the key tightly to his chest knowing he’d soon be able to do the same with his beloved once more.  


**Author's Note:**

> I’m one of the few Versailles fans that doesn’t completely hate Louis (shocker I know)...don't flame me guys, lol.


End file.
